


Quiero cantar mis versos del alma

by 2davidbeckham3



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 09:57:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8139845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2davidbeckham3/pseuds/2davidbeckham3
Summary: “I love you, I guess.” David says and takes another bite of his overcooked paella like his statement isn’t a big deal.





	

“I love you, I guess.” David says and takes another bite of his overcooked paella like his statement isn’t a big deal.

Maybe it isn’t, but this was the first time David told Iker he loved him.

 

 

(Iker’s said it before, but not loud enough for David to hear him. _Te quiero_ murmured with a goofy smile during training when he stands up after David tackled him into the ground. _Te quiero_ mouthed into David’s neck while they’re in bed and David’s gasping Iker’s name somewhere above him. _Te amo_ thought after David pulled him into a hug after their latest loss.)

 

 

Iker’s floored and can distinctly feel his rice sliding off his fork, back onto his plate. He doesn’t know how to react, whether to brush it off as a joke because David only _guesses_ or chalk up his courage to say it back.

Thankfully, not even a second has passed. Iker sees that David’s blushing and avoiding his gaze, looking stubbornly out in front of him. Maybe David planned it, he _is_ sitting next to Iker instead of across in his tiny four person table, after all.

 

 

(What Iker doesn’t see is how large an ocean can truly be. Frowns distorted over thousands of miles of telephone lines, time zones turning sadness into cordiality and sleep they didn’t get the night before _. I’m happy for you_ said instead of _te extraño_ and how they mean every word. Except, sometimes, they don’t, but spite doesn’t travel well either.)

 

 

Iker looks down and takes courage from the faux wood grain pattern. He smiles at David when he looks up again, shy and mischievous. “I guess, I love you, too.”

 

 

(They won’t talk for weeks and Iker wishes he could forget. He wishes he could move on from this man that’s anchoring him to a part of the world he’s never been to, never been attached to, _Paris, Los Angeles, Milan_ , but it’s impossible. Iker doesn’t hear how those words are unforgivingly loud in the hotel rooms in between. David’s voice hitches every time he says _te quiero_. Sometimes, it’s more of a sigh, tender and nostalgic. But, sometimes, it’s more of a hiss, angry and accusatory. It’s always there, the sting of betrayal that makes Iker embrace David a bit too hard or make David pull at Iker’s hair a bit too rough.)

 

 

“You guess,” David echoes, but his gaze is bright when he grabs Iker’s hand and squeezes once, tight and firm. He’s relieved, and Iker’s surprised David was ever worried. Sure, about the World Cup a few summers away, but never about them.

 

 

( _Te quiero_ means stay. Every. Single. Time. They both say it. They both mean it. They’re begging. They’re praying. _Te quiero, te quiero, te quiero. Te quiero_ and it’s nearly a sob from Iker. It’s heavy and just so _loud_. They’re somewhere in Milan or Los Angeles or maybe somewhere in between with David still on crutches. David doesn’t say it back, but kisses Iker while he wipes the tears from Iker’s cheeks, so it’s close enough. David whispers it into Iker’s hair while Iker tries to sleep and that's when he realizes that it’ll never be enough.)

 

 

“Only because you do,” Iker counters with raised brows and steals some chorizo from David’s plate to prove his point.

 

 

(David’s on Iker's doorstep in Portugal and is kissing him before Iker can say something other than hello. _I’m such an idiot_ said instead of _I’m sorry_ , but Iker’ll get the message soon enough. _Someone will see_ is sputtered, but Iker really means to ask _Why?_ and _Don’t stop_ , at the same time.)

 

 

“Maybe I don’t,” David amends and doesn’t even try to fight the smile spreading across his face. “Maybe I know,” he adds, giddy.

 

 

( _Te amo, Iker._ _I’m sorry. Te extraño. Te amo. Te amo_. It’s a wonder that Iker doesn’t fall to his knees then and there under the weight of everything that’s finally said. Iker nods, but he really means _Me too_. David’s eyes are shining with tears, but _te amo_ never sounded as sweet.)

 

 

“Well, then, I know, too,” It’s Iker’s turn to be embarrassed. “I guess.”

 

 

(Miami is loud, but it’s the home they created for themselves; it's theirs and theirs alone.)

 

 

_“Creo que te amo, Iker.”_

This time, Iker does drop his fork.

**Author's Note:**

> What's Becksillas without a hint of angst, am I right? Unbeta'd! All mistakes are mine. I'm glad I finally got to write some _te quiero/te amo_ discourse. (Miami reference because one can hope! Sorry.)
> 
> The title is from the song "Guantanamera." I've been listening to a [version in Italian](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b3oxFc_CnVw) that's very good.


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